


dogged

by remaya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Universe Travel, Coming of Age, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Romance, eventually, sirius and his shameless thirst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya/pseuds/remaya
Summary: "I'm handsome," Sirius says, hugging his pillow in the dark. "I'm smart. I'm strong. I'm charismatic. I have experience with tons of people, who wanted to shag me and liked me a lot. I defend him, I admire him, I've been nice to Sniv-- Snape, lately--"James groans. "Go the bloody fuck to sleep!" Peter, the lucky sod, is dead to the world and lets out a loud snore."I need Professor Evans to give me a chance," Sirius continues. "I could be so good for him. He needs someone like me. He's so--" Sirius yelps as a Stinging Hex hits him in the face from the direction of Remus' bed.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Harry Potter
Comments: 112
Kudos: 841
Collections: Solstice Flashfest





	1. your faithful servant, prongs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyABookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyABookworm/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [OnlyABookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyABookworm/pseuds/OnlyABookworm) in the [Solstice_Flashfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Solstice_Flashfest) collection. 



> OnlyABookworm, thank you so much for the prompt! this has become like fic hydra... write one scene, put two more in the outline... a sign of an awesome prompt, haha!!
> 
> a few things of note!  
> * sirius is in 7th year.  
> * lockhart is aged up a year so he can be with reggie and barty.  
> * american spellings yet some british slang? yes.  
> * some characters are out of place, like bakazuki26 pointed out in the comments! harry's universe traveled, so we're going to say it makes sense that it doesn't make sense XD

That familiar laugh... Harry whirls around, a lump rising in his throat, barely daring to hope-- and there Sirius is, young and alive, swaggering towards Harry in the book shop.

“Are you a shrunken house-elf head decoration at the Blacks’?” Sirius says.

Harry blinks, snapped out of his wonder by sheer bewilderment. “I’m sorry?”

Sirius leans in close, and answers, “Because you are _on point._ ” And I wouldn’t mind mounting you against a wall, he doesn’t add, but it’s implied.

“What?” Harry checks behind him, but there’s nobody there.

“My bad,” Sirius smirks. “I got it wrong. You’re a Snitch.” He pauses. “Because you’re by far the greatest catch here.” At Harry’s blank look, Sirius falters. “You must play Quidditch.”

“... I know what a Snitch is, I’m just confused--”

“Then you know a Keeper when you see one, whether he’s in the mirror or in front of you,” Sirius finishes, with relish. His smile is blinding. “I’m Sirius Black. Could I treat you to lunch?”

Harry’s voice fails him.

“Speechless?” Sirius grins. “Don’t worry, we can go any place you’d like.”

Harry swallows a few times, imprinting Sirius in his mind as best he can. He looks so _youthful,_ and well-groomed, healthy. His face isn’t gaunt. He doesn’t have facial hair. He isn’t haunted by the shadow of bitterness and madness.

He is so handsome.

Harry loves him; at the same time, loss hits him like a runaway hippogriff because _his_ Sirius is gone forever.

“Hey,” Sirius says, stepping closer. His brow furrows in concern. “You alright?”

Harry wants to say, _I love you. I miss you. I’m so sorry I got you killed because I was young and stupid._ “I have to go,” Harry hears himself say, and then he shoves past Sirius and sprints out into Diagon Alley.

Sirius stares after him. “I wasn’t _that_ bad, was I?”

* * *

Sirius’ owl flies through James’ open window in the middle of a muggy summer night.

“ _My fantastic awesome wonderful brilliant best friend Prongs,_ ” the letter begins. Sirius’ elegant handwriting is rushed. 

James is immediately suspicious. Nevertheless, he sets down the letter a moment to write at the top of a blank piece of parchment, “ _My terrific sensational remarkable marvelous excellent Padfoot,”_ and then returns to the letter.

“ _I’m in love._ ”

James scoffs and considers acquainting the letter with his fireplace, but a dramatic, large “ _WAIT_ ” on the first page catches his eye, so he rolls his eyes and sits down again. The “ _WAIT”_ is underlined five times and a waste of ink. Below it, the letter continues.

_“James, don’t burn this yet, you’ve got to hear me out on this one. You’ll never guess who I met yesterday in D. Alley. I was getting that yarn we needed for The Secret Project-- I attached a skein to Nugget for you, make sure to keep it from her because she’s taken a shine to picking at it for some reason--”_

James looks up from the letter just in time to save the yarn from demolishment via owl. Nugget’s name is one of Sirius’ many acts of rebellion before he’d been disowned from the Black family; he’d hated the name Archimedes and by the time his parents found out, it’d been too late to get Nugget to respond to any other name. James just wishes that Sirius had picked a more appropriate name for Nugget, like “Menace” or “Cranky Mountain Troll Stuck in Owl’s Body.”

“Shoo,” James says. “Go hunt or something. I’m trying to read this.”

Nugget eyes him skeptically.

“Remember our deal,” James reminds her. “You don’t bother me, I don’t bother you, and we pretend to get along in front of Sirius. I’ll have bacon for you when you come back.”

Nugget ruffles her feathers as if to say _you’d better_ , and then hops over to the window and takes off. James picks the letter back up.

_“... for some reason-- and I saw this unbelievably attractive bloke, so I followed him to chat him up a bit. He turned into Flourish and Blotts and went straight for the manager about a shipment of textbooks for DADA because apparently he’s our new Defense professor this year._

_“OUR NEW DEFENSE PROFESSOR THIS YEAR._

_“That means, James, that I will have an entire year to charm him. Surely the DADA curse will act up again and I’ll get to protect him from something too. He’s like twenty or something, young, so don’t say anything about that-- I got McG to blush once, remember? I can do this._

_“And he’s not one of those weird ones. He’s young and also super fit and he can’t possibly be snobbish because he said he’s paying for textbooks so that disadvantaged students don’t have to stress about the cost. He said (to the manager) that he’s moved here from Albania, and Mother Teresa came from Albania, so that’s another positive. AND, when I went and asked him out he didn’t say anything about being single. I reckon I have a chance._

_“I know you’re suspicious, this is too good to be true, right? Well, there is one catch, I suppose, in that when I asked him out he didn’t say anything about being single but he also didn’t say much of anything at all, because he was busy running away. But it’s no big deal. I have an entire year to work on him. Just do me a solid and when you tell Lily, make sure you don’t mention that part. Remus and Peter are teasing me relentlessly._

_“Hey, what about you write Lily for wooing tips on my behalf? That way you get to know what she likes and I get some advice too. This is your last year, mate, and your best chance since you’ll be head boy and she’s head girl. I still think you should go for something big from the start-- if you need a grand display of Valentine’s fireworks, I saved the tasteful ones from our prank in sixth year, and the flowers too-- but if you’re still set on going the straight and narrow and waiting for her to realize how good you are, I’ll support you, 100% no scheming even though I have serious doubts about this plan. We’ve got your back, mate._

_“Say, did Damocles Belby write back about that potion yet? If not, write to him again. Moony said he was fine last full moon but I don’t believe him. We went out for lunch the other day and he was picking at his food again. Peter tried to ask about it but I told him not to pry. I’m worried that Moony’s getting thinner, but I dunno if it’s just my imagination. I don’t want to pressure him, you know? But I don’t think he’s… I don’t know, maybe I should say something? Or you say something? Write him more, maybe he’ll be more forthcoming if it’s not face-to-face._

_“Anyway, I hope you’re having fun in Egypt. Remus and I are keeping your house plenty warm. There might be a new stain on the kitchen ceiling. Hypothetically, if there were such a stain, we’d try and paint over it, but you have a really weird ward on it, mate, we’re still trying to figure it out. I mean, in this hypothetical scenario we’d be still trying to figure it out. Why the fuck is your ceiling paint warded? I need a paranoid ancestor to blame. I bet it was Linfred of Stinchcombe._

_“On a related note, Remus loves your library. I joked with him about marrying it, but we found an actual ward against marrying it-- was that Linfred too??_

_Your faithful servant,_

_Prongs.”_

James reads the letter twice over. Then he contemplates being responsible and going back to sleep, since it’s two in the morning and he has brunch with some Egyptian pureblood today.

Nah. He sharpens his quill and makes sure to tell Sirius how hopeless he is. Sirius doesn’t even know the professor’s _name._ And those American muggle film things he’s been watching are lousy, and give him lousy vocabulary. "Do me a solid." Honestly.

* * *

Marlene McKinnon confronts Sirius during the Welcoming Feast.

“Okay, Sirius Black, you’re freaking me out,” she snaps.

“Shh,” Sirius responds. He switches from staring off towards the staff table, where there is an empty seat for the new DADA professor, and staring off towards the double doors, which remain closed and unremarkable.

“Cut it out, McKinnon,” James defends. “He doesn’t owe you any attention.”

“Of course not,” Marlene retorts, scowling. “But _you_ should be concerned-- Black’s acting more vapid than usual!”

“ _Vapid?_ ”

“Oh, stop it, James, he didn’t even defend himself! What’s wrong with him?” Marlene reaches over and waves a sausage-- its origins best left unquestioned-- under Sirius’ nose. There’s no reaction. “See?”

“He’s fantasizing about our new DADA professor,” Remus supplies, in his gentle, concise manner. He blushes when Marlene cocks an eyebrow at him.

“That’s _disgusting._ What if he turns out to be a doddering old man?” Marlene says, her wild gesticulation sending the sausage flying. It would have hit Peter in the face if not for Remus’ quick save.

“He’s not,” Sirius says, roused from his daydreaming by the sheer inaccuracy of that statement. “He’s not doddering, or old. He’s…” Sirius sighs. “ _So_ fit.”

“Oh?” Marlene says, intrigued.

Sirius narrows his eyes at her. “I met him first.”

“Well that doesn’t make him yours, does it?” Marlene says breezily. “Now I’m interested.”

“I will trounce you,” Sirius vows.

Dumbledore stops the imminent cat fight by announcing the start of the Sorting. Marlene goes back to her seat next to Lily Evans and Annalise Smith. 

“Were the first years always this small?” Peter whispers.

“Reckon they’re scared,” Remus says, with sympathy.

James shushes them. Sirius gets a glint in his eye that means James will soon be in for many Head Boy jokes.

They’re halfway through the Welcoming Feast before the new professor shows up. Neither Sirius nor Marlene notice first, both of them occupied with piling foods onto Remus’ plate when Remus isn’t looking; Lily’s the one who points it out.

“Hm, he _is_ fit,” Lily says, thoughtful.

James whips around. “Who? Lily, was that you?”

“What did Lily say? I didn’t hear,” Peter says.

Peter’s question goes unanswered as the hall falls silent. The muted tread of boots on stone draws everyone’s attention to the double doors, through which the new Defense professor is arriving.

A wave of hushed squeals and gasps sweeps through the hall. Sirius might be drooling.

“Hello,” the professor says with a faint smile. The hall erupts into chatter.

“Oh my _God,_ ” Marlene says.

Dumbledore stands up and booms, “Harry, my boy, how good to see you!”

“And you, professor,” Harry calls, hastening up to the staff table to shake his hand and then take the empty seat between Flitwick and Slughorn. They seem to share a significant look, during which Harry communicates something satisfying to Dumbledore, and then Dumbledore addresses the students and staff.

“Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year is a remarkable man,” Dumbledore says, a twinkle in his eye. “Professor Harry Evans, would you care to say a few words?”

Professor Evans says, “Not really.” At Dumbledore’s disappointed expression, he adds, “I’m hungry.”

After a short, awkward pause, Dumbledore beams. “Well said! Let us continue the feast!”

“He’s _perfect,_ ” Sirius says. It is at that moment that Professor Evans notices Sirius and the rest at the Gryffindor table, pales and colors in quick succession, and then refuses to look in their direction for the rest of the evening.

“ _Oh my God,_ ” Marlene says, delighted, after dragging the story out of Peter. “Sirius, you dog!”

James, Peter, and Remus burst into laughter.

* * *

“Any questions?” Harry prompts his fourth year class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

Regulus Black looks like he wants to raise his hand, but it’s Barty Crouch Jr who asks the question after a sideways glance. “Is it true that Sirius Black tried to hit on you and you ran away?”

Harry lets out a slow breath. He is a responsible adult, and he shouldn’t lose his temper in front of the children. “Rumors aren’t always true,” he says, stern. “Now, any questions pertaining to this class?”

Regulus’ mouth turns down slightly at the corners. With another glance, Barty raises his hand. Harry weighs the likelihood of being asked about Sirius again against the failure of his teaching responsibility should the question be a relevant one.

“Yes, Mr Crouch Jr?”

“Do you like him?” Barty asks. The class leans forward.

“He is my _student_ ,” Harry says. He hopes his tone of voice is firm enough to discourage further digging, and tries to ignore how his face heats. “Now, this is wildly off-topic; when I said we should treat each other as friends, I didn’t mean that we’d gossip all class!”

“His head is definitely turned,” Barty whispers to Regulus, and he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.

“ _I_ want to ask a question about hippogriffs,” Gilderoy Lockhart announces, despite the curriculum being nowhere close to hippogriffs.

Harry resists a heavy sigh. And here he thought seeing Molly Weasley as a fifth year last period was difficult.

* * *

“Sit wherever you’d like,” Professor Evans tells the seventh year class of DADA, holding the door open for them as they arrive. “Hello. Good to see you. How are you doing? That’s lovely. Lovely Friday, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Professor Evans,” Sirius greets as he saunters past with a roguish grin and a wink.

Harry had rather hoped Sirius would have given up by now. “Er, hello,” he manages, flushing, and then to James Potter, another generic “Good to see you,” and to Remus a warm “How are you doing?”

“Good, but I’d be better if both James and Sirius weren’t pining,” Remus responds with a significant look.

“Er,” Harry says, and the moment passes. There’s no sign of Peter in the class-- just as well, Harry supposes. Other students of significance include a young, jaded Severus Snape; Lily Evans; Fabian and Gideon Prewett, identical twins of the likes of Fred and George but with a bigger nose-shape, who must be Molly Weasley’s siblings; Ted Tonks; Marlene McKinnon, of whom Sirius had spoken fondly before he died; Avery and Rosier; and even a painfully young Narcissa Black. In total there are only fifteen students, but Harry is reeling from the familiar faces, so it seems more overwhelming.

“Well, hello,” Harry says, closing the door and turning to face his class. They’re seated in obvious groupings, generally by house. He makes his way to the front of the classroom while he continues, “I’m sure you’ve heard already that NEWT courses aren’t for the faint of heart. Make sure to sleep and eat, take care of yourself! As long as you come to class, pay attention, and work hard, you’ll do well. We’ll be doing practicals in class and theoretical homework. We do have class three times a week, but Mondays will be light days, during which you can ask to practice or learn about any topic you want. Please come talk to me during the office hours posted on the door! I’ll be lonely otherwise.”

Harry smiles at the ripple of obliging laughter. He pauses in front of the chalkboard and surveys the room. Lily and Remus are already taking notes. Sirius tries to catch Harry’s eye. Everyone seems to be paying attention… quite intensely, actually.

“I want you to pass your NEWTS. However, I hope that you’ll get more than a test score out of this course. And I hope we can be friends this semester!” Harry hops up to sit on an empty desk. “Any questions so far?”

“Do you go for blokes, and what’s your favorite food?” Sirius calls, leaning back in his seat in an insouciant manner to hide his nerves.

Harry reddens, but he can’t deny Sirius anything. He’s so weak, dear Merlin. “Yes, and treacle tart. _Relevant_ questions, please.”

“You sound like you know what you’re doing, prof,” Fabian Prewett says after a moment.

“Yeah,” Gideon Prewett adds, “how can we trust it?”

“Give us your street cred!” Marlene shouts.

“Who even are you?” is Snape’s sullen contribution.

Harry laughs and assures them, “I’ve done a bit of this and that.” The class doesn’t look convinced. Harry claps his hands. “But today isn’t about me! It’s the last class of the week, not to be spent on a doddering old man.”

“Doddering?” Sirius says.

“Old?” Narcissa says, incredulous.

Harry carries on over them: “Today and Monday, we’ll be destroying a horcrux!”

There’s a pause.

“What’s a horcrux?” Lily and Remus ask simultaneously.

“Sounds like something you made up,” Rosier sneers.

“Well,” Harry says, “I wouldn’t stab this very nice diadem for no real reason.”

“Is that _Ravenclaw’s diadem?_ ” Lily gasps, and then there is a general outcry.

“I have Headmaster Dumbledore’s permission,” Harry elaborates, brightly, over the hubbub.

Snape says, dry, “That is not reassuring.”

“For once I agree with you,” Remus says, and he and Snape look at each other and then away, disgusted. Sirius clutches at his heart, betrayed.

“ _So,_ ” Harry says with force, heading off the imminent argument, “we’re going on a field trip today and Monday! First to the library to figure out what a Horcrux is, and then to the Headmaster’s office to get the Sword of Gryffindor! Pocket your wands, and follow me!” Harry hops off of the desk and strolls out of the classroom.

The class shares an uncomfortable glance, and then files out after their professor. The thing is, when they all clear the door, they realize that Professor Evans is nowhere in sight.

“Did he just leave us behind?” Lily demands, scowling.

“This is awesome,” Avery says. “Let’s skip!” No one listens to him. Remus is casting a _point-me_. Lily ignores him and starts dragging Marlene down the hall.

“Hey, Lily, wait!” James says, dashing after her.

“James,” Sirius tries. “Oh, whatever. Fellow students! Onwards to the library!”

* * *

Getting to the library is not as easy as the class had thought.

“Fuck,” Marlene curses, flying her way through the swamp that has, for some reason, taken up the entirety of the third floor.

“You can do it!” Sirius hollers from the other end, where he’s standing with the other students, drenched in fake slime. “Last one, McKinnon! You’re almost here! Oi, watch out for that tentacle, my broom’s new!”

Marlene narrowly dodges the grasping, slimy appendage. Rosier blasts it away from her with a _bombarda._

“Fuck you too, Rosier!” Marlene snarls, shaking dead tentacle bits out of her hair.

“Not in _public,_ McKinnon,” Rosier says. Marlene growls and launches herself at him.

“My broom,” Sirius wails.

“Is there something you two haven’t told us?” Fabian says, suspicious.

Ignoring the display entirely, Severus continues towards the library behind James and Lily.

* * *

“I’ve been waiting for you _forever,_ ” Professor Evans says upon meeting them at the library. “I had half a mind to go out there and fetch you myself! I think you lost Avery, by the way.”

“Bollocks,” Rosier wheezes. “He’s right here…” He glances behind him. The spot is empty. “Ah.”

“This is _dragon dung,_ ” Snape spits out. 

“Oi!” Sirius says. “What did we say about maligning the prof?”

“Piss off. I’m a Slytherin,” Snape says.

“You can’t use that as an excuse every time!” Sirius cries. “I lent you my broom!”

“Mutt.”

“Snake!”

Professor Evans cuts in mildly, “Are you two coming?” Both Sirius and Snape turn to find him alone, holding the library door open for them. Avery’s slime-sodden back is disappearing through it; his attempt to skip class didn’t work after all.

 _I’d come for you,_ Sirius’ horny teenage mind supplies while he and Snape file silently through the door. Professor Evans avoids Sirius’ eye again; Sirius can’t for the life of him figure out why the professor is so shy with him. Sirius maintains confidence in his own looks and charisma and abilities with a force of will Harry would have admired, if he’d known.

The class finds themselves dried and cleaned of slime and other substances upon entering the library’s wards, possibly to alleviate their discomfort, but more likely just to help preserve the books and scrolls. Professor Evans leads them straight to the Restricted Section.

“Hullo, Madame Pince,” he greets as he passes her, and then, against all odds, he winks. Sirius double-takes, since this is the first time he’s seen the professor flirt with anyone.

“H-Hello,” she responds, breathily, fluttering her eyelashes. Professor Evans doesn’t seem to notice; Sirius glares at her, but she doesn’t even see him, having returned to shuffling her papers.

“She’s too old for him,” Sirius says under his breath. 

Marlene shrugs. “Some people like older women.” She smirks at Sirius. “Rawr.”

“Did you just hit on me?” Sirius gags. “Good Godric, I need to _scourgify_ my brain. Never do that again.”

“That was incredibly disturbing,” Remus agrees, unnerved.

“Hm,” Marlene contemplates. “You’re right, it felt disgusting.”

“I suppose you had to try it sometime,” Sirius sighs. “I know I’m irresistible.”

“Not to Professor Evans,” Marlene sniggers. Sirius punches her in the shoulder.

“Shh, we’re here,” Remus says.

“ _Secrets of the Darkest Art,_ ” Professor Evans says, pulling out an ominous-looking book with far more cheer than it warrants. The Slytherins look marginally more interested, and the rest of the class looks on in morbid fascination. “Gather around, class, in a circle… I’ve cast a soundproofing charm so you can talk freely. Now, we’re to find any mention of Horcruxes in this book. How would you accomplish that? No need to raise your hands, just give me some ideas.”

“Look in the index,” Sirius says eagerly.

“There won’t be an index in a book that old, and it looks obscure,” Lily says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “A finding spell for the word Horcrux should do it.”

“Atta girl,” Marlene cheers.

“Hmm,” Professor Evans says. 

“Snape wants to say something,” Avery contributes. The class turns to Snape, who scowls.

“No, I didn’t,” he protests. The moment lengthens while Snape maintains his dour expression. Sirius opens his mouth.

“Well, a finding spell wouldn’t work,” Narcissa says, saving the class from another argument. “Those kinds of books always have some sorts of curses on them, and it’s dangerous to try spells on it unless you’re sure it’s safe. That’s probably why Professor Evans is wearing dragonhide gloves.”

“Exactly!” Professor Evans beams. There are a few sighs of appreciation from the students. He continues, oblivious, “Two points to Gryffindor for effort, and ten to Slytherin! Lucky for you all, our class period is only so long, so I’ve neutralised the curses for us beforehand. Anyone want to try the spell?”

Ted Tonks, the least suspicious of the students, moves to raise his wand, but Gideon stops him.

“He’s trying to trick us,” Fabian hisses.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Evans smiles. “Don’t just take someone’s word that a dark artifact is safe! I’ll prove it to you now.” His diagnostic spell turns up green. At last, Ted performs the finding spell.

“Nice one,” Professor Evans says. “Five points to Hufflepuff.”

“You’re giving out too many points,” Avery complains.

“Am I?” Professor Evans grins, mischievous. “Ten points to every one of you for getting through the swamp challenge on the third floor.”

“The amount of Gryffindors in this class is _disproportionate,_ ” Ted mutters.

“Well, Hufflepuff is lame, Tonks,” Avery retorts.

“Five points from Slytherin for discourtesy,” Professor Evans frowns. Avery shuffles back, glaring at the ground.

“‘ _A Horcrux is a foul piece of magic,_ ’” Remus reads aloud from the book, pointedly. “‘ _It is best not made, for the cost of the mutilation is too great for one soul to bear._ ’ And then it’s talking about unicorn blood.”

“Here I thought this trip couldn’t get any more astoundingly unhelpful,” Avery says under his breath.

“Nonsense,” Sirius responds, overhearing. He rounds on Avery. “We had to work together and be creative to get through the swamp, and now we know how to get into the Restricted Section and some basic handling stuff for Dark things. Professor Evans is highly competent and--”

“Sirius,” Remus says, exasperated.

“Oh,” Sirius says, realizing he’d gotten carried away. Professor Evans is just staring at him, his mouth slack and his eyes dazed. He looks like he’s been hit by a train. Sirius adds, aggressively, “Well, I meant it. I think Professor Evans is fantastic--”

“ _Erm_ ,” Professor Evans says. “Let’s move on… I’ll tell you what a Horcrux is, now that you’ve done a little research on it...” But he’s blushing and his gaze keeps being helplessly drawn to Sirius and then flicking away as soon as he realizes Sirius is watching him back, so Sirius counts it as a success.

After they’ve returned to the classroom to gather their belongings, Sirius takes advantage of after-class open questions to ask Professor Evans out again. Professor Evans stammers something about unpacking and flees.

“You’re _shameless,_ ” Remus says once the period’s over and they’ve cleared the library. 

James adds, “He didn’t even give you a straight answer. He couldn’t even look you in the eye and tell you no, that’s how shameless you are.”

“Of course he couldn’t give a straight answer, he goes for blokes,” Sirius chuckles. “Anyhow, I’ve almost cracked him.” He turns to James. “Y’know, mate, you could learn something from me. I saw you trying to touch Lily’s hand earlier, you know that’s not going to work! Snape was _mocking_ you, I saw him. You need something more forward. Something--”

“At least _I_ don’t chase after Lily like a bludger chasing after a snitch,” James interrupts loudly, and Remus swats Sirius upside the head while laughing.


	2. peter and wallpaper are almost the same picture

McGonagall arrives at breakfast on Saturday to discover Evans already at the staff table, nursing his head in his hands. 

“Good morning, Harry,” she says. After a considering moment, she sits down next to him and observes, “You’re up early today.”

Evans raises his head, and the pallor of his face is evident even through his darker skin. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Overwhelmed? Don’t worry. All of us had a period of adjustment to the school year... I’m sure you’ll adjust to your professorship in time,” McGonagall reassures him with sympathy. “And I am here to help. If you have any concerns...”

“Uh, yes, that,” Evans says, a strange note in his voice. “I, er, I’m just adjusting, I suppose.” He turns his attention back to his empty plate. His “Thanks” is small and unsure.

“You’re welcome,” McGonagall responds, but she’s not sure that Evans hears her. He seems to be lost in his head. She remembers her first few days teaching, smiles to herself, and pours herself tea. Evans is young and bright with potential. Slowly, the rest of the staff and students trickle in, and McGonagall thinks about how the children grow up so quickly. It seems like just yesterday that the Marauders were being formed at the Gryffindor table...

McGonagall is brought out of her nostalgic musings by Evans saying, clearly, “Firewhiskey.”

“Eh?” Slughorn says, from Evans’ left.

Evans stares forlornly past the rim of his stubbornly empty goblet. “Pooky, I know you can hear me. Please, Merlin, even a finger of firewhiskey would do.”

“Pooky the house elf?” Slughorn laughs, boisterous. “So you’ve had class with the Marauders, eh? Or has it been Lockhart giving you a hard time? Come now, Evans, the house-elves would never give you alcohol, and certainly not Pooky, that grizzled old bastard!”

“I had to try,” Evans says. He seems so troubled and saddened that Slughorn softens.

“Eh, look here, Harry. I said the _house-elves_ would never give you alcohol. But I have a few fine bottles of Ogden’s Old in my rooms, if you’ve the heart to spend some time with lonely old me!”

“You two are _not_ drinking together in the morning,” McGonagall says, stern. “Horace, control yourself.”

“Why, Minnie, you are no fun!” Slughorn pouts. The effect is altogether ruined by his inability to hold it. “Or, perhaps you are simply jealous. We have not had a morning drink together since the last final exam marking rush! We must rectify this immediately. I will invite everyone, even--” he makes a face-- “Argus.”

“Oh, stop it,” McGonagall chuckles. “We had champagne just last month.”

“A month too long ago!” Slughorn declares.

Evans snorts, with more life than he’s displayed so far, and McGonagall and Slughorn share a conspiratorial smile.

“Well,” Slughorn says. “Besides that, I had wanted to warn you two that Lockhart has been quiet lately…”

“You thought that too?” Flitwick puts in. “I had thought that was strange.”

McGonagall says, “Have you noticed Pettigrew being more distant lately, as well? He handed in my first assignment late. And Lupin, too, he may be having trouble sleeping.”

“Their first class with me is on Monday, I’ll keep an eye out for him,” Sprout offers. “In happier news, Prewett and Weasley are finally dating! I think. I caught them in a broom closet yesterday.” There’s a chorus of well-wishes from the listening professors.

“Wait, which Prewett?” Kettleburn asks. “I didn’t notice at all!”

“Molly, the sweetheart,” McGonagall answers. “They’d been dancing around each other for quite some time.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Kettleburn says again, and sighs. “I really am getting on in age. I keep saying I’ll retire next year…”

Near the very end of breakfast, the conversation turns back to Evans.

“You don’t have to answer, this, Harry,” Hooch says, “but we’re all curious about what’s going on between you and young Mr Sirius Black.” She raises a sharp brow.

Evans startles, caught off-guard with a mouthful of porridge. With his widened eyes and his cheeks bulging, and that adorable blush, McGonagall would see what Sirius sees in him if she were younger. “Er,” he says, after swallowing a few times more than necessary. “I’m sure you are.” He fidgets with his tea, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “He’s very… attentive.” 

“By which you mean he comes on too strong, yes?” Slughorn says, contemplative.

“We can… talk with him for you, if you’d like,” Flitwick offers kindly. “Is it reciprocal?”

“I-- I-- _,_ ” Evans sputters. His blush deepens. “ _Er._ ”

“So it’s _that_ way,” Slughorn remarks, and Evans doesn’t seem to know what he means.

“He’s my student!” Evans cries, finally. “It would be unethical!”

“He’s only a student until the end of the school year,” Slughorn reasons.

“He’s also looking at us right now,” McGonagall points out.

Evans squeaks, and then bolts up from his seat and mumbles, “Um, I think I need to go. I’ve a lot of things to grade, and, and teaching things to plan, thank you for being such good company, but I really must leave now--” and he hurries out of the Great Hall.

The professors’ attention focuses on Sirius Black’s visible pining as soon as Evans turns out of sight.

“At least I’ve noticed _this_ ,” Kettleburn says.

“I think it’s romantic,” Hooch comments.

“Would you know romantic if it hit you in the face?” Slughorn says.

“I’ll have you know that I _did_ have a wife--”

“Whom you chased out of your house with bludgers. And then divorced. But not before splitting the assets in your favor, and painting her kneazle a lurid pink, and replacing her shampoo with mud, and also you were only married for about a week--”

“ _I was married at one point._ ”

“You said you didn’t even know why you married in the first place, you just wanted tax benefits.”

“Sod off! You have a flobberworm-themed robe!”

Slughorn splutters. “No!”

“I’ve seen it in your closet!”

“Ah, blossoming young love,” Dumbledore comments fondly to himself, and Filch shoots him a long-suffering scowl from the end of the table.

* * *

“Lily,” James repeats himself, almost desperate.

“Hm, I think I’m going to Professor Evans’ office hours today,” Lily says, looking in the same direction as Sirius to follow the professor’s retreating backside. “I’m sure it will be very enjoyable-- visually, at least.”

“I’m going too!” Sirius exclaims, glaring at her.

“But Lily, I look _exactly like him,_ ” James tries.

“ _You do not,_ ” Sirius snaps.

“You really do not,” Lily sighs.

Marlene says, “Well-- there might be something in the jawline, and the hair, the glasses--”

“ _No,_ ” Sirius and Lily deny vehemently. 

“Did I miss something?” Peter pants, having just arrived in the Great Hall. “Professor Evans seemed harried when he passed me on the way in…”

His contribution goes unnoticed. Even Remus, who used to be the one Peter could always count on, seems distracted by something, frowning down at his cornflakes. Peter doesn’t bother to sigh, and slides into his spot with a meek, faintly distressed air.

“We have the same last name, too,” Lily notes. “It’s a pretty common muggle one, but… maybe destiny’s trying to tell me something.”

James’ responsible Head Boy demeanor crumbles as he starts begging her to give him a chance. Lily turns her face towards Marlene to hide her little smile from him.

“She’s smiling,” Marlene immediately betrays her.

“You rat!” Lily glares, because James is going to be _insufferable._ For some reason this sets the Marauders off laughing and nudging a sullen Peter.

* * *

“I hate reading,” Peter groans, though he keeps his voice lowered because Madame Pince might be terrorizing the bookshelf behind him. “Literacy was a mistake.”

Remus sighs. The dark circles under his eyes have deepened somehow. “It’s not that bad, and making it out to be worse than it is will make it feel worse. Just… use your brain…”

“My brain cells are there, I just can’t focus them,” Peter complains. “Let’s take a break, Remus. We’re all tired and it’s only the first weekend-- what could we possibly get ahead for on a Saturday afternoon?”

“Why don’t we just go to Evans’ office hours early,” Sirius suggests, jittering.

“I can’t, I have patrol,” James says, but he doesn’t sound very disappointed. Sirius turns to pin him with a leer.

“You’re patrolling with Evans, aren’t you?”

Peter says, “Having two Evanses around is confusing,” but no one pays him any mind.

“I am,” James replies to Sirius. A dopey, lopsided grin blooms over his face. “I’m so lucky to be Head Boy…”

“Go get the girl,” Sirius cheers for him. After James leaves, Sirius refocuses on Remus. “Well? Let’s go now! Hey, Remus, you alright?”

Remus blinks. “Sorry, I just spaced out.” He yawns, and then puts up a token protest to leaving before they’ve finished their homework. Sirius is very concerned at the way he folds like a bad hand of cards.

He can’t hold it in anymore. On the stairs, he bursts out, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Remus asks innocently, right before he trips over a stair and Sirius has to save him. “Ouch. Thanks.”

“Things like that are _exactly_ what I mean,” Sirius accuses. “You keep spacing out on me. You snapped at Peter today and you never snap at him. Is it the you-know-what?” 

“It’s not the you-know-what,” Remus snaps. “Stop asking me!”

“That! You just lost your patience!”

“You are so _aggravating_.” Remus visibly takes a breath to calm down so he doesn’t say something he’ll regret. “Sirius, I’m-- I’m having some trouble handling… things, right now, okay, and all of your--” he waves a hand in the air halfheartedly to represent Sirius’ mother-henning-- “it’s not helping. In fact, it’s making things a lot worse. So could you please just... shut the fuck up?”

They’ve stopped going up the stairs at this point. Sirius is greatly upset. “I’m-- I’ll stop. If that’s what you need.” He looks pleadingly at Remus, and begs, “But please, tell us if it’s something big, okay? James and Peter and I, we’re here for you. We--” he bites his lip so he doesn’t give away that he and James had written Damocles Belby behind Remus’ back. “We’re here for you.”

“We are,” Peter agrees. Both Sirius and Remus glance at him in brief surprise-- he’s been so quiet lately that sometimes it’s easy to forget he’s there.

“I promise it’s not big,” Remus says, eventually. “I’m just adjusting to the school year. There’s a lot of pressure with the NEWTS coming up…”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says, running with the topic change despite his impulse to press Remus for answers, because Remus will only clam up.

* * *

“Come in-- oh, er… hello,” Professor Evans greets them, far too surprised to see Sirius, Remus, and Peter on the other side of his desk. And here Sirius had thought he’d been clear about his intentions-- evidently, not clear enough.

“Was that _Snape_ we passed on the way in?” Remus asks.

“Yes,” Professor Evans blinks at them from behind his glasses, a hint of color fading from his cheeks. “He seems like a lovely student, and, um, like he’s looking out for me.” Sirius scoffs, but immediately stops at Professor Evans’ mildly disapproving look. “Please, have a seat.”

Sirius begins, “Professor Evans--”

“Harry,” Professor Evans says, forceful. His receding flush returns. “Erm, I forgot to tell the class yesterday-- please, call me Harry. ‘Professor Evans’ makes me feel old.”

“Alright, _Harry,_ ” Sirius amends easily, garnering more color from Harry. He leans forward in his seat, and Remus preemptively grasps the back of his shirt to prevent him from leaping over the desk to ravish their professor. Harry shifts the slightest bit backward in his chair.

“Down, boy,” Remus mutters, low enough that only Peter and Sirius hear.

Sirius ignores him. He opens his mouth.

“I had a question on the homework,” Peter blurts, before the atmosphere can get any more intensely awkward.

“... There wasn’t any homework,” Harry says. Some discomfort beyond just the obvious correction bleeds through his voice.

As the minutes tick by, it becomes glaringly apparent that the only reason the Marauders (absent James) are at office hours is for Sirius to mine Harry for potential romantic interest. Harry, for his part, humors Sirius, though he fidgets and can’t meet Sirius’ gaze. Peter grows more and more uncomfortable, dropping out of the conversation entirely after his previous mistake; Sirius grows more and more blatant in his efforts; and Remus is barely holding on to the last of his patience.

Remus jumps up. “I think that’s enough for today,” he snaps. He softens his tone to address Harry, who had looked taken aback. “Sirius and Peter and I have a paper to write for Transfiguration. Better get it done sooner than later.” Harry blinks at him in bewilderment as he drags Sirius up by the collar and backs towards the door, leaving Peter to gather their bags. “It was very nice to get to know you. Have a good day!”

“Wait, wait,” Sirius flails, resisting.

“It was nice to talk to you too,” Harry replies, hesitant, almost looking like he wants to say something more, but the three students are already out of earshot.

As soon as Peter’s closed the door gently behind them, Remus grabs a fistful of Sirius’ shirt and hisses, “Stop _hounding_ him.”

“I’m not,” Sirius whines, and it’s a testament to how angry Remus is that Sirius doesn’t even pick up on the accidental dog joke.

“You kind of are,” Peter says.

“You really are,” Remus echoes. “Look. I’m going to spell a few things out to you so you stop acting like an idiot.”

Sirius goes to protest; Remus raises a stern brow, and on cue, Peter helpfully smacks Sirius upside the head. Sirius pouts but subsides.

“One: your advice to James about Lily was shit.”

“Wai--”

“Do I need to bring out the spray bottle?” Remus says, his measured voice at odds with the darkening aura oppressing the hallway. A passing gaggle of fifth years walks faster.

Sirius’ eyes widen, and he shuffles backwards, his hands waving in front of him as if to ward off the threat. “No, no, of course not,” he stammers hastily. “Merlin, my life just flashed before my eyes. No. Go on.”

Remus is pleased. “Good.” He draws himself up. “Your advice to James was shit, because that kind of-- _harassing_ dynamic is not a good way to start a stable, healthy long term relationship. What James is doing now is much better, because he’s not just thinking about what _he_ wants. He’s thinking about what Lily wants too, and making himself a better person for her.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s all responsible now, Mr Head Boy,” Sirius rolls his eyes. “Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes is loving it. Tell me something I don’t kn--”

“Spray bottle,” Remus warns, and is rewarded with Sirius’ instant complacency. “Point two: seeing as you’re employing your horrid advice on Harry, it’s not going to work out.”

“You’re my best friend,” Sirius moans dramatically, collapsing against the wall. “You’re supposed to support me and tell me I’m awesome.”

“I don’t like to lie to my friends.”

“ _Ouch,”_ Peter murmurs.

“Peterrrrr,” Sirius cajoles, “I thought you were on my side.”

Peter’s face falls with more guilt than the teasing warrants.

“I think what you need is to wait until you graduate so you’re not his student,” Remus advises, not noticing. 

Just to be contrary, Sirius ends up back outside Harry’s office twenty minutes later.

“You’re not trying to bribe me are you?” Harry says warily upon seeing the tray of treacle tart and tea that Sirius is floating before him.

“Nope!” Sirius denies sunnily, ignoring his brother and Crouch Jr. and Lockhart being confused at him, and then he escapes before Harry’s expression of surprise can cause him heart palpitations for being so cute.

* * *

Harry starts patrolling Saturday night thinking about how he’s going to get wolfsbane to Remus, and thinking about Remus leads to thinking about the Marauders, so that after half of his shift he’s musing on how he hadn’t expected to teach Sirius.

He can admit to himself that it was a stupid oversight. He should have realized right away what time period he was in. But some part of him, the part that doesn’t like to think about Sirius at all because it hurts, blocked it out. He didn’t want to face the possibility that Sirius was still alive. Not that he’s not _glad_ that Sirius is alive, he’s just…

He’s a bit of a jumbled mess.

He knows he never stopped grieving. Or maybe it was that he never properly grieved. Hermione had told him to stop repressing things, to his face, so it’s not like he’s unaware of his own tendencies, but it’s not like he has to let go of all of his anger or something now, because Sirius is _here_ so there’s no death to accept, right? Teenage Sirius may not be entirely the same, but Harry can see traces of his Sirius in this one already; the mischief, the charisma, the handsomeness. Even teenage Sirius is taller and broader than himself.

It’s a bit of a stretch, though, to reconcile the two. Teenage Sirius is so _forward,_ and Harry’s trying not to think too deeply on why teenage Sirius is coming on to him. Good Godric. He should have expected to meet people he knew, now that he’s stuck in the past, and he had even prepared himself to see his parents. But how was he supposed to expect that Sirius would-- do _this?_

It must be just hormones, or puberty, or some sort of idealistic infatuation that will pass with time once Harry’s not the new thing anymore. The idea makes a strange, hot coil squeeze around Harry’s ribs. All this time he was thinking about Sirius, and now that he’s here, Sirius is going for such a _cheap_ sort of manipulation? Harry doesn’t know exactly why he is so irked by it.

 _Are you a shrunken house-elf head at the Blacks? Because you’re on point_ his arse! Who was this line supposed to work on? Harry can’t think of any reason for Sirius to use such a ridiculous phrase on someone he’s genuinely interested in-- the Sirius he knew, though a goof, was always suave regarding romance, and wouldn’t use such a line unless it was a joke. Surely Harry isn’t as ugly as a shrunken house-elf head, though? Sirius wouldn’t be _cruel,_ would he be?

Of course he would, Harry concludes sourly, thinking of Snape who had unexpectedly, kind-heartedly warned Harry of the Marauders’ pranking tendencies during office hours. Sirius probably got a kick out of laughing with his friends about how Harry would look mounted on the wall or something. Harry hopes viciously that whoever dared him to do this-- this _flirting--_ will… will--

Harry deflates. 

He can’t bring himself to wish any harm on Sirius, or his friends. He understands, too-- he’d done his fair share of idiotic things when he was younger, he thinks, conveniently ignoring that Sirius is only a few years younger than himself. He amends his previous hope: he wishes that Sirius wouldn’t hurt him too much in his shenanigans.

By now, he’s paced almost all the way up the stairs onto the next floor, too lost in thought to patrol properly. Harry guiltily checks to make sure nobody is around, and starts making his way back to his assigned patrol route.

But then, there’s a rustling sound coming from the broom closet on the next floor. 

Harry’s mood lightens right away. He swallows a snicker and tiptoes up towards the door, intending to wrench it open and bellow _Out after hours?_ or something equally menacing. However, before he can get there, the closet’s door creaks open, two shadows stealing towards Harry’s stairs, and Filch rounds the far corner down the hall.

Harry instinctively ducks out of sight.

“Fuck!” a somewhat familiar voice exclaims in a harsh whisper, and then a young and disheveled Molly and Arthur Weasley come tumbling down at Harry’s feet. Or, well, Molly Prewett, because they haven’t married yet and they’re also fifth years who won’t marry anytime soon.

“Uh… professor!” Arthur tries, barely suppressing a wince, and so Harry doesn’t think-- just steps in front of them as Filch arrives at the top of the stairs accompanied by his signature shuffle and wheezing, and Mrs Norris.

“Eh, Evans,” Filch says, his jowls quivering, his pasty skin shining eerily in the dim lamplight as he hunches over further to see Harry. “Saw a couple of troublemakers run down here, did you see them? It’ll be the worse for them now that I’ve finally caught them.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Harry says, feigning confusion. “I was just checking the stairs.”

Mrs Norris meows, and Filch huffs. “Must be those Marauders again. Slippery, they are-- reckon they’ve got an invisibility cloak or some sort of charmed artifact. Keep an eye out, eh?”

“I will.”

“Right,” Filch says. “Come on, Mrs Norris, we’ll sniff them out tomorrow… I’ve those chains hanging from the ceiling in my office for when we do…” His mutters eventually fade away.

Harry rounds on the students huddling behind him. “Now, what are you doing out so late?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got through 2 points in the outline...  
> ch 2 was supposed to cover like 9
> 
> thats also why it ends awkwardly but anyhow, im hoping that next ch will get through monday's DADA class hehehe


	3. remus does some bribing behind the scenes

Arthur’s lower lip juts out into the cutest pout. He’s so _young._ “It’s not that late!”

Harry raises a brow, and casts a tempus. A glowing 1:00 floats into Arthur and Molly’s faces; this time, Arthur’s wince is palpable.

“Thanks for covering us with Filch,” Molly attempts, her eyes large and pleading. “We’ll go back to our dorms now?”

“Five points from Gryffindor for the both of you,” Harry admonishes, trying to be stern but probably mostly failing, because Molly’s next question is “Did you say yes yet?”

Harry blinks. “I-- what?”

“To Sirius Black,” Molly clarifies. She fixes Harry with an expectant look.

“He’s my student,” Harry says, the excuse practiced by now. “Now, you two should really go back to bed. Here, I’ll escort you…”

“What about after he graduates? You’re not even that much older than him,” Molly presses, following.

Harry isn’t build for this kind of pressure. He tries, feebly, “He reminds me of someone else…”

“Who?”

“He’s dead,” Harry evades.

“Well, Sirius is alive,” Molly counters, and Arthur just nods along with stars in his eyes.

“I didn’t notice,” Harry mutters sarcastically, and he drops the Gryffindors off at their tower to the beginnings of the Fat Lady telling them off for flouting curfew.

Maybe Molly had a point, though, he muses to himself as he finishes up his patrol. Seeing Molly and Arthur sneaking around after curfew just like he had when he’d been in Hogwarts reminds him of just how young they are. He should keep in mind that Sirius is also young: too young to know any better than to pursue Harry for the novelty, and too young for Harry to regard him in any romantic fashion.

* * *

Harry wakes up late on Sunday, partially so that he won’t take breakfast at the same time as Sirius, who he figures must be an early riser like his older counterpart, and partially because after patrolling through the night, he’d laid in bed staring at his canopy for far too long without falling asleep.

It turns out to be a futile effort, anyhow. When he arrives at the Great Hall, the first thing he sees is the Marauders, who have commandeered a section of the Gryffindor table to clear of food and fill with parchment. Harry gets a glimpse of _30\. Snape?? Bribe Marlene_ before the list is swept out from under his nose and stuffed into Sirius’ robe.

“Good morning, Harry!” Sirius greets him cheerfully.

“Er,” Harry decides not to ask. With a quick, mumbled “Good morning,” addressing Remus while facing Sirius, he hurries up to the staff table.

“Hullo,” greets Kettleburn, who is evidently a late riser and falling asleep in his soup. He pinches himself awake as Harry sits and serves himself. “Evans! I daresay you’re looking quite lively today.” Harry tilts his head in question, his mouth full, and Kettleburn elaborates, “You’ve got a healthy flush to your cheeks this morning, lad.”

“The cause isn’t great for my health,” Harry returns quietly, his eyes travelling automatically back to the Marauders, who have spread their parchments out again.

“Right, right,” Kettleburn laughs. “Everyone’s heard about you and Mr Black by now, I reckon you’re sick of it. Well, I wanted to ask you if you’d visit Hagrid and I on a walk around the grounds today. I didn’t get to show you anything before the feast, and a tour’s overdue! It’ll be good exercise.”

“I’d love to,” Harry answers, relieved. The day that had been stretching out ahead of him when he was getting dressed seems less daunting now that he has something to keep busy with.

The lines on Hagrid’s face are much more faint than Harry’s used to, and his hands aren’t nearly as roughened as Harry expects when they shake hands, and his demeanor isn’t nearly confident enough. But once they round the edge of the Forbidden Forest and take in the thestral enclosures, Hagrid comes alive, and Harry thinks fondly that Hagrid has always been quite honest about who he is.

“Wan’ ter help feed the flobberworms?” Hagrid rumbles excitedly.

Harry takes the offered gloves. “Sure,” he smiles, and soon, Hagrid’s rambling on about how incredible flobberworms are, how they can sweat despite not being mammals and why they secrete so much mucus and live in damp ditches, how they’re one of the few living creatures that can be summoned with the charm, and how their X classification with the Ministry is all rubbish.

“They’re far from boring!” Hagrid declares, impassioned. Harry nods, watching the flobberworms slobber over the lettuce. Hagrid seems to gain fervour with a willing audience.

After Hagrid finally stops to take a breath, Harry ventures, “D’you know a, er, Damocles Belby?”

“Can’ say,” Hagrid answers, following a long moment of consideration. Harry has a scant second to be disappointed, and then Hagrid adds, “Reckon Slughorn would know. He knows ev'ryone.”

“Slughorn!” Harry exclaims. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him! Thank you so much!”

“Righ' yeh are,” Hagrid grins.

* * *

Slughorn is in a velvet dress robe when he answers the door to his rooms.

“Sundays are my self-care days,” he preens under Harry’s blank stare, a near-empty glass of whiskey dangling from one hand. His breath smells of crystallized pineapple, and Harry is not sure how to feel about the fact that he recognizes it immediately. “Damocles Belby, you say? He was one of my favorite students! The potioneer, yes? Doesn’t get along with his brother, a bit of a recluse.”

“Sounds about right,” Harry agrees.

“Well, we write every once in a while-- he’s been working on a project for the past few years, it’s supposed to be a secret… how did you hear about him?”

“Here and there,” Harry says, vaguely, glad that Slughorn’s too tipsy and indulgent to watch his words. He can’t exactly explain why he wants a potion that hasn’t been invented yet.

Slughorn beams and invites Harry in while he looks for a parchment. “You must be asking because your letters don’t go through to him, eh?” Harry nods, even though only Slughorn’s backside is sticking out of the trunk he’s searching in. “He warded his residence a while ago, something about getting too much mail… You came to the right place… aha!”

Slughorn produces a scrap of parchment.

“Copy that down,” Slughorn instructs, pushing a new sheaf of paper and a self-inking quill into Harry’s hands. “You have to address the letter to this place, specifically, or it’ll never get to Damocles. Tell me how it goes!”

“I will,” Harry agrees, with little intention of doing so, backing out of Slughorn’s rooms as quickly as he can without seeming rude. 

Outside, he releases a relieved breath; the deep V of Slughorn’s collar had been showing _far_ too much skin. It was worth it, though. Harry squints at the address he’d hastily copied down, and hopes that the project Slughorn had mentioned is the Wolfsbane potion.

Aside from a giant owl dive-bombing him to ask for treats, and then flying away in a huff when Harry’s pockets turn out empty, Harry’s visit to the Owlery is a success.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Sirius and the Marauders have been busy.

“You don’t think he’ll suspect something?” Peter had asked, when they set up there right after breakfast instead of retreating to the Common Room.

“It’ll be more suspicious if I _don’t_ show up,” Sirius had answered. “No one’s going to be listening in anyways. Also, the more he sees me, the more he’ll think about me. We’ve got to get him used to me before he can date me, yes?”

“ _We,_ ” Peter groused.

“So that’s the first step of this wooing plan you want?” Remus said, dry. “You ask him out ten million times?”

“ _No,_ ” Sirius replied, “obviously. The first step is getting some information by embarrassing myself so he doesn’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Do you even know what embarrassment is,” James said, at the same time that Peter said, “I don’t know how you can be so _shameless._ ”

“So that’s going well for you,” Remus commented, amused, and Sirius rapped him on the shoulder with the fork he’s been gesticulating with.

By lunchtime, Sirius has a working plan, in spite of James abandoning him partway through to pursue Lily, and Peter sidling off to do who-knows-what. Remus cracked open a textbook once Sirius was on a roll, only contributing the occasional heartless comment. Sirius really feels the love and support of his friends.

“Remus,” Sirius prods him with the trusty fork. “Remusremusremusremusremusre--”

“What,” Remus snaps.

“Could _you_ do the bribing?”

Remus shuts his book. “What bribing?”

“Yes!” Sirius cheers, because that means that Remus has as good as agreed.

* * *

Monday afternoon finds Harry holding the door open for the seventh year class of DADA as they arrive, saying hello to each student.

“Good to see you,” Harry greets Lily Evans as neutrally as possible, and repeats the same thing for James Potter after her. “How are you doing, Remus?”

“Brilliantly,” Remus says, a sour twist to his mouth. “Made any progress on your feelings for Sirius yet?”

“Er,” Harry manages, and then Remus is inside and Sirius is winking at him and strutting past. By the time Harry recovers, being weak to Sirius’ attention fresh off of a breakfast with an intense Sirius-stare drilling into the side of his head, only the last stragglers have yet to arrive. Harry closes the door and starts class.

“We’re finishing our field trip from last class today,” Harry announces, to a general chorus of excitement. “Just a quick excursion, and then we’ll return here and I’ll demonstrate one way to destroy a horcrux, and then you can relax for the rest of class or ask me questions.”

“We’re going to destroy Ravenclaw’s diadem?” Marlene says excitedly. 

“We’re going to destroy Ravenclaw’s diadem?” Daina Corner, a Ravenclaw, says, more outraged than excited.

“Well, not _destroy,_ ” Harry hedges. “Just… crack. A little bit. And the part we’re cracking is a horcrux. Now, follow me!”

“Where’re we going again?” one Prewett whispers to the other, getting back an “I have no idea.”

“To the Headmaster’s office to get the Sword of Gryffindor,” Lily reads aloud from her notes.

“Nerd,” James comments fondly, and ends up having to fend off a fuming Lily for the rest of the way there.

Concurrently, Harry is mildly distracted by Marlene’s aggressive concern for Remus.

“You look like my grandfather,” she’s hissing, “my grandfather’s dead!”

“Why do you always compare me to your dead grandfather,” Remus says wearily.

As they continue on, Harry starts getting the niggling feeling that something’s wrong. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Sirius isn’t pestering him for the entire walk-- it’s just a feeling. He checks behind him and counts the heads of his students. Avery’s here, despite his history of ditching class, and most of the others, too, some lagging behind because of the stairs, but… where’s Sirius?

“Over there,” Marlene points, and Harry follows the motion automatically. “Saw ya wondering, prof.”

Harry doesn’t protest, because he’s too busy working through the sudden confusion and terror of seeing teenage Sirius talking to Severus Snape.

“What…”

“He has some weird idea that being nice to Snape will make you more willing to date him,” Marlene says, blunt. “Is it working?” Noticing Harry’s apprehension, she adds, “D’you want me to neuter Sirius? I can do it for you if you want.”

“Wait-- _neuter?_ ” Harry flails. Inadvertently, in the back of his mind, he conjures an image of Sirius’... anyhow… “No!”

“So it’s working?” Marlene scrutinizes him.

“I-- I don’t--”

“Don’t get too red there, prof,” Marlene says, snickering, coming to some conclusion that Harry’s sure he won’t like the consequences of. “Dumbledore will think we’ve broken you or something. What’s the password?”

“What?” 

“For the gargoyle. We’re here. You sure you’re alright?”

“I never said I was,” Harry mumbles, but he straightens and clears his throat. “Ice mice.”

The gargoyle statue leaps aside, and the wall behind it splits in two to reveal a spiral stone staircase.

“We’re going up,” Harry ushers his class onto the staircase. 

“More stairs?” someone complains, and then shrieks as the staircase jolts and moves slowly upward. There’s some scattered ribbing from the students, and then they arrive at the polished oak door of the Headmaster’s office.

Harry has scarcely lifted the brass knocker before Dumbledore calls, “Come in!”

“We’re here, Headmaster,” Harry says ahead of his class spilling into the office, and since he’d pulled the Sword out of the Sorting Hat way back when he’d first arrived in this time and had to prove himself to Dumbledore, he slips out to wait for Dumbledore to finish the horcrux lecture he’d wanted to give the students. Something about sharing knowledge being for the good of everyone, or at least for the good of those who will likely join the Auror force in the future, in case Voldemort returns through some arcane ritual or some other upstart Dark Lord decides to try splitting their soul.

* * *

“He didn’t up and abandon us again, did he?” Snape says sourly once the class tumbles out of Dumbledore’s office to find Harry gone again.

“I didn’t!” Harry says indignantly, appearing out of nowhere. “I was just talking to Sir Cadogan. You’re all done?” The class seems markedly more subdued than before. “Well, let’s go back, then…”

“How do you know so much about horcruxes, if they’re so obscure?” Narcissa asks, suspicious. “My mother didn’t find anything in the Black or Malfoy library about it over the weekend.”

Harry glances surreptitiously up and down the corridor to make sure nobody besides the portraits is eavesdropping. “I’m meant to know a lot about how to defend against Dark Magic,” he evades. At Narcissa’s pointed stare, he caves and gives, “Horcrux hunting was sort of… you could say that it was my job, before I was hired here.” He nods. “Yeah. I was hunting horcruxes for Dumbledore. This diadem is one of the last of Voldemort’s-- there’s only Nagini left, besides it.”

“What’s a Nagini?” Lily asks, her quill poised over her notes, at the same time that one of the Prewetts breathes, “Wicked,” and Ted Tonks says, “What other--”

“Excuse me. You two go ahead,” Ted Tonks says, sheepish.

“We finished,” the other Prewett says. “You were asking?”

“Oh.” Ted Tonks is taken aback at everyone’s eyes on him. “I was going to ask-- what other horcruxes, besides Voldemort’s?”

“None, really,” Harry answers. “Voldemort’s were a full time job.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And Nagini’s his snake. Erm… we’d better get back to the classroom now, I’ll show you how and then one of you can do it if you’d like.”

“Really?” Marlene demands. “Me. I’m doing it.”

Snape scowls.

Marlene catches him. “Actually, _Severus_ is doing it.”

“Alright,” Harry decides quickly, not wanting anyone to argue over it.

In the end, destroying the horcrux is anticlimactic. Harry hands the Sword of Gryffindor to Snape, in whose hand it warms with slight disgruntlement, but it lets Snape use it in the end. Snape tries swinging it dramatically, but it’s heavy, so he settles for just resting the sharp side of the blade on the diadem’s center and pressing downwards with the help of gravity. The diadem screams and cracks in two, and a wraith flies out of it and disappears.

“Blimey!” a Prewett exclaims in despair, and Snape’s glorious moment is overshadowed. The Prewett is huddled over his middle, as if in pain.

Harry scrambles to his side, fearing the worst. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah,” the Prewett says, uncurling to reveal a pocket watch clutched in his hand. “Dropped this when the wraith flew by and dented it. Mom’s going to kill me…”

“You’ve got to be more careful with your stuff, Fabian,” the Prewett who must be Gideon scolds. “Now look, we’ve interrupted class again. Sorry, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t respond, his face pale.

“Harry?”

Blinking out of his dazed state, Harry says, “Yes?” He seems to come back to himself in a rush. “Oh, sorry. I thought I saw something else for a moment…” The dented pocket watch Fabian is clutching is a mirror of the one Molly Weasley had given to Harry in the future-- Harry’s past. “Sorry,” Harry apologizes again. He straightens. “Well,” he addresses the class, “that’s all I have for you today. The rest of the period is yours.”

Sirius, for his part, is bent over writing something for the duration, and doesn’t even linger after the bell rings. Harry tries not to feel bereft.

* * *

Sirius’ strange behavior continues for the rest of the week. Or is it normal behavior? Harry tells himself he’s acting irrational; why should he be so disappointed that Sirius isn’t bothering him anymore, and probably instead pursuing a normal girl or bloke his own age-- Harry cuts off that line of thought. 

He shouldn’t be guessing about who Sirius has set his sights on next, even though he’s always thought that young Sirius was capricious and has probably already moved on to someone else, someone better for him--

Harry’s far too relieved when Sirius shows up to his Saturday office hours with tea and treacle tart, and he’s busy eating and then awkwardly fending off Sirius’ advances without being rude enough that Sirius leaves, so he doesn’t have time to think on his feelings any further.

Harry is delighted and nervous in equal measures as Sirius makes the Saturday visits a habit.

* * *

The day before the first Quidditch match of the year-- Gryffindor versus Slytherin-- rolls around in the first week of November. 

“Alright, listen up, you hippogriff feathers!” Marlene is shouting in the Gryffindor locker room at an unholy hour of the morning, smacking her ruler for emphasis against the floating board of plays. The Gryffindor team is squeezed onto a singular bench in front of her, Gideon Prewett nearly falling off the far edge on the right.

“Is hippogriff features supposed to be an insult or a compliment?” Sirius quips, and the shy Annalise Smith, who’s always wracked with nerves before matches, lets out a shaky giggle.

“Shut up, dog shit!” Marlene barks, ignoring Sirius’ muttered _it’s my birthday tomorrow, be nice to me_. “Here’s what we’re gonna do tomorrow! We’re gonna win! And if we lose, I’m gonna kick your asses!”

“Aye, aye,” Fabian doffs an imaginary hat, and then wipes an imaginary tear. “Marlene, always so inspiring.”

“Captain!” Marlene yells. “Fix your bloody crooked arm guards!”

James rolls his eyes, sleepily, and holds out his arms for Sirius to do it. Marlene always takes over his captaining duties in the early mornings until he wakes up and becomes less useless.

* * *

Marlene finally lets them out to the Quidditch pitch once she’s harangued them into wakefulness. They troop out with their brooms and gear. It’s James’ turn to be saddled with bringing out the balls, which means that by default, Sirius is hefting the box over his shoulder while James carries his and Sirius’ brooms, and his notes.

“I need drills today,” James is mumbling. “Loops. Where’s--” He shuffles his notes around; Gideon steers him back on the path as he veers to the side in distraction. “Lily loops.”

There’s a collective groan from the team. Lily loops, created by James back in 5th year when he made Captain, are aptly named, as difficult as getting into Lily’s good graces and likely to explode in their faces besides-- James likes to fix prank explosions in the air to make convoluted obstacle courses as unpredictable as Lily’s temper-- and James loves them.

Fabian gasps, interrupting James. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Am I still dreaming? Gideon, pinch me.” Gideon moves up the line and pinches him. “Merlin’s _fuzzy_ balls.”

“Ew,” Annalise wrinkles her nose.

“ _No Lily loops!_ ” Fabian cheers, to James and Marlene’s dismay, pointing to the giant, burned trenches sunk into the Quidditch pitch.

“Is the match going to be cancelled?” Annalise points out, to James’ immediate, vehement denial.

“Are the letters? Are they?” Marlene demands. “Someone fly up and see what it says! I’m flying up to see what it says.” Her voice fades into the distance as she ascends. “When I find out who did this, they’d better fear for their fucking nonexistent brains…”

Sirius drops the box of Quidditch balls to shade his eyes against the sunrise, craning his neck upwards. “Should we stop her?” he wonders idly, as a scream of _LOCKHARRRRRRT_ floats down to the team.

“Nah,” James decides spitefully.

“Fucking twenty foot long letters in _my_ Quidditch pitch!” Marlene is fuming before her feet hit the ground. “That fucking brat! I’m going to kill him! He’s never going to have a single detention-free evening for the rest of the year-- Fucking carved his fucking peacock signature into _my fucking grass_ \--”

“Five fucks given,” Fabian says in an amused undertone to the others.

At the edge of the pitch, they find Professor Evans laughing his head off with Professor McGonagall a stern pillar of disapproval next to him, a small, nondescript package lying dropped at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might b a lil choppy... but we're finally thru ch '2'! :D next up: birthday gifts... snape... where's peter??... sirius has a breakdown... lockhart... maybe drinking w/the profs if we get there

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charismatic Sirius who thinks he can charm the pants off any witch or wizard meets the new Professor Harry and makes him his goal for the year. Kudos if Harry always had feelings for Sirius and is very awkward about Sirius' advances.


End file.
